


The Voice of an Angel

by sternchencas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean can't get enough of Cas' voice, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Music, Radio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 05:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18088475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternchencas/pseuds/sternchencas
Summary: When Sam hides Dean's cassette tapes, Dean has to get creative to get his daily fix of classic rock, but soon, the music doesn't matter anymore. Instead, Dean gets high on a voice.





	The Voice of an Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaggieMaybe160](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieMaybe160/gifts).



> This story is inspired by a prompt from [MaggieMaybe160](http://maggiemaybe160.tumblr.com/) on the [Profound Bond Discord](http://profoundnet.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you Maggie and [EmiliaOagi](https://emiliaoagi.tumblr.com/) for excellent beta work.

"I swear to god, Sam, you better be joking," Dean bellows, his voice filling the inside of the Impala like a severe explosion.

"I’m not," Sam says in a quiet, almost soothing voice. "You’ve been brooding for months, and I think they’re not helping you at all."

"My freaking cassette tapes? Are you crazy?"

Sam purses his lips, not happy about Dean’s choice of words, but he keeps his therapist-like exterior. "Heaving a healthy routine and being stuck in a circle of self-destructing behavior are two different things. I think you should try something new."

Dean growls. "You just want me to listen to some of your crap. But guess what? I won’t. I’d rather listen to nothing at all."

He turns off the radio with unnecessary force and watches Sam, daring him to turn it back on. Sam does nothing of the sort. He dives back into his laptop with a sigh of, "Fine."

"Fine!" Dean snaps back and stares at the road ahead, not looking at Sam for over two hours.

The atmosphere stays just as icy when they’re back at the house, and Dean heads straight for his room. It only takes him about 20 minutes of driving to understand what Sam means. Dean hates this kind of silence, and he not only likes the music, he needs it like he needs air to breathe.

Throwing his bedroom door shut, Dean looks around the room for his iPod, but since Sam is an equally smart and mean son of a bitch, he took that as well. Dean is about to storm out and demand it back when his eyes fall on an old radio in the corner. Sam didn’t take it since it’s broken, but he doesn’t know that Dean brought it to his room to fix it.

Dean raids one of his drawers to make sure he has all the tools he needs before locking himself in and starting to work on the radio. It takes him three hours and four attempts, but finally, it comes to life.

"Suck on that," Dean murmurs and sets the radio down on his bedside table. After plucking in his headphones, he eagerly searches for a station.

Living on a farm in the middle of nowhere doesn’t help. First, Dean gets a lot of static, then classical music, and finally a bible station. He’s almost ready to give up when he can make out a few distinct notes of Metallica’s "some kind of monster." Eagerly, he tweaks the antenna to get the most out of it and his fingers hurt from moving the knob for the frequency only fractions of an inch at a time.

_This is the test of flesh and soul_  
_This is the trap that smells so good_  
_This is the flood that drains these eyes_  
_These are the looks that chill to the bone_  
_These are the fears that swing overhead_  
_These are the weights that hold you down_  
_This is the end that will never end_  
_This is the voice of silence no more…_

Dean falls back onto his bed with a deep sigh. Like a junkie who finally got his hit, he unravels in the music. When the song ends, there’s a second of nothing until a voice speaks. "This was ‘Some Kind of Monster’ by Metallica, and we’ll head right over to Kansas‘ ‘Dust in the Wind.’"

The music doesn’t matter anymore. Dean sits up and stares at the radio, his mind occupied with the gruff, deep voice of the announcer. Dean’s never heard a voice like that, especially on the radio. He would definitely remember a voice like that.

Getting up to his feet, he paces up and down and waits for the song to get cut short, but it plays all the way through, and there’s a moment of silence before the voice speaks again.

"Wonderful track, number 6 on the Billboard Hot 100 in April of 1978. You’re listening to Angel Radio, and these are our five songs in a row before midnight."

He lists the songs, and when the music starts, Dean exclaims a breathless, "Nooo."

Five songs in a row? Usually, he’d kill for that, but right now he wants nothing more than to hear that voice again. Dean makes good use of the time though. He changes his clothes and brushes his teeth and when song number three starts, he rushes to the kitchen to get something to drink.

When Dean comes back to his room, he puts his headphones back on and the song changes. It must be number five. Dean settles down on his bed and turns the volume up, ready for the voice.

The silence is back, and then, "Those were our five songs in a row before midnight, and you’re listening to classic rock on Angel Radio. I’m Castiel Novak, and I’ll leave you in the hands of my friend Balthazar for now. Have a good night from me with this lovely lullaby."

“No One Like You” by the Scorpions begins to play, and Dean listens, hoping that Castiel might come back, but when the song is fading out another voice is speaking over the last notes.

"Welcome back to another night with Balthazar. I’ll guarantee we’re going to have-"

Dean turns the radio off and grabs his phone instead. He searches for anything about Angel Radio and finds a message board where people discuss some of their shows. One of the entries has a link attached that leads to a website made by the station’s hosts. It’s not flashy: more about giving information.

One link leads to a list of the hosts, even with pictures. There’s Balthazar with an overly cheeky grin, a redheaded woman named Anna, a woman with golden locks biting down on a lollipop named Gabriel, and finally Castiel.

Dean stares at the photograph and feels cheated. It’s not at all like the others. It’s a profile picture of a man with a sharp nose and a clean cut, scruffy chin, but the eyes are cut off. Instead, his mouth is open, and he speaks into a microphone. With Dean’s eyes glued to Castiel’s lips, he tries to imagine the voice, but it’s just not the same from memory.

Immediately, Dean clicks the link to the station’s program and lets out an unceremonial, accidental, and completely embarrassing squeal of joy when he sees the name. Tomorrow evening, he has a date with Castiel Novak.

 

* * *

 

After weeks of secretly listening to Angel Radio, Dean finally has the house to himself. Sam is visiting a nearby convention about serial killers, and Dean puts his alone time to good use. He searches the whole basement until he finds his mom’s old stereo. It has a functioning radio, and what’s more important, it also has two cassette decks. A week ago, Dean bought some tapes from an electronic store, letting Sam believe that he needed parts to fix the radio, and now he’s finally ready.

Dean has barely enough time to set up the stereo, but he’s ready to go when Anna says goodbye to the listeners. Her last song fades out, and after a short pause, Dean can hear Castiel’s familiar voice.

"Hello, friends of classic rock. I’m Castiel Novak, and you’re listening to Angel Radio. It’s 6 on this nice Thursday evening, which means it’s time for Classical Rock – a history."

Falling back on his bed, Dean couldn’t be happier. Although he doesn’t mind listening to Castiel over his headphones, it sure is a nice change to have his voice fill the whole room. Even better, every Tuesday and Thursday at 6 pm, Castiel runs a show that focuses on the history of famous bands and their songs. Dean already knows most of it, but aside from little sound bits of songs, there’s no music. For almost an hour, there’s only Castiel’s lovely voice.

Dean sighs, and all the pressure and stress falls off of him, leaving only a nice heavy feeling that presses him snuggly into the memory foam of his mattress. He can’t exactly tell what today’s show is about, but now that he’s able to record them, he can listen to them whenever he wants.

A giddy feeling rushes through his stomach at the thought, and his mind dives deep into the velvet ocean that is Castiel’s voice. In his mind, he sees the picture of Castiel’s profile, the plush, full lips slightly parted. He wonders what it would sound like to have Castiel whisper in his ear, maybe bite down and nibble, or kiss along his jaw and neck. When a pleasant chill runs down his body, Dean’s imagination begins to run wild.

What if it went even further? Castiel would kiss down Dean’s chest and stomach, all the while talking to him, his breath ghosting over Dean’s skin, and when he reaches the waistband of his pants…

Dean knows he should probably feel guilty for getting off on a stranger’s voice like this, but he’s not hurting anybody, so he loses his shirt and pushes down his pants. Castiel’s voice brings him right back into the mood, and he caresses his body while imagining Castiel doing it.

It would be so good to have Castiel tell him how pretty he looks this way and how much he wants to be inside of him. That gives Dean the idea to go all the way with this. He grabs a bottle of lube from the drawer in his nightstand and applies it generously, while Castiel is not so far from discussing related things. "… been controversy about innuendos and sexual meaning in song lyrics, but these guys weren’t doing much to hide it. A line like ‘I’m gonna give you every inch of my love‘ can’t exactly be called subtle."

Guided by Castiel’s voice, Dean moves his hand lazily up and down his cock while his other hand massages his balls. He wants to make every minute of the show count, so he takes his sweet time. After a while, his grip gets tighter, and he caresses his perineum, slowly paving the way to open himself up with more lube.

Dean imagines how Castiel would suck Dean’s cock into his mouth, all wet and warm, while his slick fingers would tease Dean’s rim. He’d tell him what he’s doing at all times, and push his fingers inside so slowly that Dean would soon beg for more. Following the notion, Dean lifts his ass up from the bed, pressing against his own fingers, before falling back and finally sliding them in with care.

Throughout the show, Castiel’s voice becomes increasingly more pronounced, as if it takes him a while to lose his nervousness. Once there, he sounds sure of everything he says, almost daring the listeners to disagree with him. Dean would. Not because Castiel is wrong but because Dean wants him to lecture him. Castiel would tell him that he had better behave himself, but Dean would be a little brat until Castiel pushes him down on the bed to show him who’s boss.

Dean’s movements become more frantic at the thought, his body heating up and his heart beating louder in his chest. He wishes he could make this happen, get Castiel into his bed and open up for him, follow his every command. Castiel would feel so good inside him, stretching him open with every push and making him ask politely for more.

With loud moans, Dean slides his fingers in and out of his hole, his voice mingling with Castiel’s, both of them filling up the room. Castiel is giving a quick recap, letting Dean know that there are only minutes until the show ends. In Dean’s mind, Castiel is buried deep inside of him, his body pressing down on him, and they kiss in between needy breaths and even louder moans.

Just like Castiel speeds up in his imagination, Dean’s hands become more eager, and when Castiel announces the end of today’s show, Dean pushes himself over the edge crying out, "Fuck, Cas!"

Dean’s body goes rigid for a moment, his hand still while his cock pumps come onto his stomach, and a second later, Dean pools down into his mattress again as if he’s made of liquid.

"You were a wonderful audience tonight, thank you for listening. I’m Castiel Novak, and you are listening to Angel Radio."

Music starts playing, and Dean lets out a little laugh while pointing at the radio. "Oh no, baby, thank _you_."

 

* * *

 

"Dean, what the hell? I only want to-" Sam says but Dean lifts his hand to cut him off.

"I told you, no time."

"Why?" Sam asks bewildered. "It’s not even like you’re going out. You’re in your ugliest sweatpants."

Dean doesn’t particularly like lying to Sam, but he didn’t have a chance to listen to Cas in two days, and his nerves are beginning to wear thin. "Okay, if you absolutely have to know, I’m doing yoga."

Sam‘s eyes grow big after Dean gives him a moment to process what he just said. "Yoga?"

"Yes, bloody yoga," Dean grunts. "I hate to admit when you’re right but I’ve been doing it regularly twice a week, and it actually helps."

"Oh," Sam says, his face lightening up. "Tuesday and Thursday."

The lie works even better than Dean imagines, and he nods along. "Always at six, because you keep going on and on about a healthy schedule. And as you can see," Dean says, pointing at his watch, "I’m already late."

Sam lifts his hands in apology. "Alright, I’ll head over to Eileen’s for a while, and you can do your thing."

"Highly appreciated," Dean says, acting as calm as he possibly can, but as soon as Sam is gone, he sprints to his room and gets the stereo out from under his bed to turn it on. "- from Led Zeppelin, 'Riverside Blues.' Enjoy," Cas says.

Dean stares at the radio while the song plays and it’s the first time in his life that he doesn’t enjoy hearing it. Why is there music at all? There’s supposed to be Cas‘ voice for a full hour. Dean sits down on his bed and waits for the song to end.

"For everybody who just tuned in, there won’t be a history of classic rock today. My co-hosts asked me to do a little giveaway instead," Cas explains. "You can win two tickets for an exclusive concert of the Dreamy Demons in the Roadhouse Shed, dinner before and backstage after. All you have to do is call now and answer a simple question."

He gives out the number to get right through to him, and when he repeats it, Dean punches it into his phone. "I see we have a first caller. Hi, who am I talking to?"

"Hi, oh my god, I’m such a big fan. I love your show. I’m Becky."

"Thank you, Becky," Cas says, but Dean can hear that he’s trying to rush through the conversation. "Are you a big fan of the Dreamy Demons?"

"Oh my god yes," Becky squeals and Dean fears that his ears might start bleeding. "I listen to them all the time and follow them on insta and everything."

"That’s-" Cas searches for a word and Dean laughs, trying to imagine his face. "Um, great. You should have no trouble with the question then. I will read it to you, and then you have ten seconds to answer. Ready?"

"Yes!"

"In their song ‘Nevermind Names‘ the Dreamy Demons list a few names that were supposed to be their name before they settled on their current one. Name those three names. You have ten seconds."

Becky rambles for the entire time and comes up with only one name at the end, Dreamy Demons. Cas lets her down easy and plays another song, promising to give another caller a chance when it ends.

Dean stares at his phone. If he wants to go see the band, he can just buy a ticket, but this-? This is a chance to talk to Cas. The seconds tick by, and Dean’s mouth runs dryer by every one of them. His thumb keeps hovering over the call button. He won’t get through anyway, right?

Cas comes back on to quickly explain the rules again. When he says "then call now," Dean presses down his thumb without thinking, and it rings. "Alright, let’s see who we have now," Cas says. "This is Castiel. Who am I talking to?"

A shiver runs down Dean’s spine. He can hear Cas‘ voice over the speaker but it’s also right there in his ear, and it’s even better although he has no idea how that’s possible. "Anybody there?" Cas says, and Dean finally gets in gear.

"Yes, hi. It’s Dean, Dean Winchester."

"Hello Dean."

That’s what it must feel like to ascend to heaven. Dean is melting like snow in the sun, and he has trouble getting air for a second. Nobody has ever said his name like that. It’s pronounced clearly, but comes out of Cas‘ throat like a growl. Dean wants to fall to his knees and pray.

"You forgot one of the names," Dean blurts out, trying to get back on his feet. "You said, devilish, dirty, and disastrous, but you forgot Dollar Demons."

There’s silence, and Dean curses himself. He wanted to talk to Cas to win him over, or at least have a friendly conversation, not argue with him on the air. "I asked for the three names in the song," Cas clarifies. "They only talked about Dollar Demons on Garth’s Good Morning Show."

"Alright, you got me there," Dean admits. "But it’s in the booklet of the second album. Worth adding it to the other three, don’t you think?"

"You could, but even Crowley himself said that they didn’t particularly like the name and that’s why they didn’t put it in the song," Cas says, his voice full of that bossy tone that makes Dean’s knees go weak. "Worth listening to the lead singer, don’t you think?"

"Dammit, Cas, you’re really showing me up right now," Dean jokes and the nickname just slips out like everything else.

It’s dead quiet for a moment, and Dean even thinks about apologizing, but Cas finds his voice first. "How about you save face by getting the question for the tickets right, Dean?"

He puts a lot of emphasis on Dean’s name this time, but Cas doesn’t sound angry. Dean isn’t sure what to think since he’s never heard Cas like this before. Is he joking? Teasing him? "Alright, I’ll do my best. Ready when you are."

"Here is your question: In which year was Led Zeppelin’s ‘Ramble On‘ first released?"

Dean grins over his whole face and can’t keep the cheer out of his voice. "That’s not a Dreamy Demons question."

"I can ask something else if it’s too hard for you," Cas offers, and Dean is sure that Cas is fucking with him.

First, he asks him something that involves the number 69 and then asks him if it’s too hard? Dean’s heart is pounding faster again, and he dares to believe that Cas is actually flirting with him, or at least tries to throw him off with a little innuendo. "No, it’s alright, I can handle hard," Dean retorts. "The answer is 1969. October 22nd, to be exact."

"Seems we have a Zeppelin fan here, and the answer is-," Cas says, and after a dramatic pause, he plays a cheery jingle interlaced with applause. "Correct, of course. Congratulations, Dean. You won two tickets with backstage access and a great dinner at the Roadhouse."

"Thank you!" Dean says, emotion flooding into the words as their conversation ticks closer to ending.

"Any idea who’s coming with you?" Cas asks.

Dean’s brain short circuits. He can’t believe that Cas stays on the phone and is trying to make small talk. Maybe he doesn’t want it to be over either.

"How about you?" Dean asks out of the blue and to be perfectly clear, he rephrases the question. "Would you like to go to the concert with me?"

Cas‘ lets out a surprised laugh and his voice cracks. "We, um, have the nicest listeners, don’t you think? Stay on the line, Dean, so we can take your information."

Dean hears a click and holding music begins playing through his phone, and after Cas announces the next song, the stereo is playing music as well. After a minute, Dean wonders when Cas will get back to him. After another minute, he’s not sure if anybody will get back to him at all, but Cas can’t just leave him hanging. He won the tickets after all.

The song on the radio changes and finally, there’s another click in Dean’s phone. "Dean, are you still there?"

"Sure," Dean says, "still waiting for an answer."

There’s a pause, and Dean can hear Cas breathe. "You weren’t joking then."

"Not at all."

"Dean," Cas says, and Dean’s heart drops. He can hear a let down from a mile away. "You can’t know that, but I’m blind. I’m not the best person to bring to a concert."

The penny drops when Dean sees Cas‘ photo in front of his inner eye. He didn’t want every person online to see, so they got a little creative with the picture. He still told Dean, though. He could have said anything else, even argued that employees of the radio station can’t profit from the prizes, but he said the one thing that would give Dean an out. "That’s not a no then," Dean states. "You want me to pick you up? I have a nice car."

"I- Dean, didn’t you-?"

"Oh, I heard you," Dean interrupts. He has a foot in the door now, and he’ll be damned if he lets Cas go because Cas feels self-conscious. "Just like you are hearing me. I didn’t ask you to go to the movies after all."

There’s a small laugh coming from Cas, and Dean’s heart leaps with joy, but Cas still sounds unsure. "Can I ask why? We’ve never met and we don’t know anything about each other."

"Not to sound like a creeper, but we’ve been dating for weeks. I haven’t missed a single show of classic rock history for five months, and it’s often the highlight of my day," Dean admits. He doesn’t want to come on too strong, but he takes Cas as someone who needs the unpolished truth. "You don’t talk from notes, you love that stuff, and I do too. We’d have a lot to talk about, and I very much enjoy listening to you."

"That’s- Um, thanks for your honesty," Cas says before falling silent. It’s unnerving, but Dean doesn’t say anything. It’s not his job to persuade Cas. Dean made his move, and now it’s on Cas to decide. "Can I ask you something? And I’d prefer another honest answer."

"Sure, ask away."

"How much do you enjoy listening to me?"

"I told you-"

"No," Cas interrupts. "Let me be clearer. Do you listen to the show alone when you enjoy it?"

Cas puts a lot of emphasis on the words, and Dean blushes when he finally gets his meaning. He doesn’t want this to be over, but he’d hate for it to start with a lie. "I always listen to it alone, but I only really, really enjoyed it once. I promise, from one classic rock fan to another."

Dean bites his lip to stop himself from talking, but Cas laughs. "Don’t worry, I believe you. It’s alright."

"And you’re not creeped out?"

"No," Cas says. "I’ve gotten fan mail telling me to work at a sex hotline. It seems my voice - how do I put this – does it for quite a few people. I just wanted to know if you can be honest about it."

"So, that’s still not a no?" Dean asks hopefully.

"I guess it’s not," Cas says with a sigh. "You seem nice and to be honest, your voice isn’t too bad either."

Dean almost swallows his tongue. "You think?" he crooks and Cas laughs, less restricted than before.

"Yes, I do," Cas admits. "It’s dark, but smooth. Well rounded, like marbles shaped by the sea. Very sexy, actually."

"Keep talking," Dean says with a grin.

"Wish I could, but I’ve been playing songs in a row here without saying anything. I should go back to work."

"Son of a bitch, of course." Dean didn’t even notice the music coming from the stereo. "I’m sorry."

"How about you give me your number, and I call you later when the show is over," Cas suggests.

"To talk about the concert?"

"Of course," Cas says, but then mischief creeps into his voice. "Or instead of talking, you could just listen."

Dean rattles off his number quicker than he ever had before and has to repeat it twice before Cas gets it right. Then he lies on his bed, his phone pressed against his heart, and he feels like bursting any second.

 

* * *

 

Sam runs his hands through his hair and over his face, sighing deeply. Like so many times before, he’s waiting for his brother. Sam knows it’s still early, but they have hours of driving ahead of them, and it will take even longer if they don’t head out soon and get stuck in traffic.

He’s about to go in and get Dean when the door flies open, and Dean comes outside. He locks the door and hops down the stairs before walking over to the car with a skip in his steps. If Sam didn’t know better, he’d say it’s Dean’s I-had-great-sex-last-night-walk. But that can’t be. Sam is sure they were alone in the house last night.

Sam eyes Dean when he drops into the seat next to him with a whistle on his lips. "What are you so chipper about?" he asks, his suspicion growing.

"What?" Dean asks, checking his mirrors. "I can’t be in a good mood?"

"Of course, you can, but you’ve been down in the dumps for over a year. What changed?" Sam asks, still weary, but with legitimate interest.

Dean starts the engine and turns the car around to get on the path that leads from their house to the actual road. "I don’t know, Sammy. I guess yoga really does it for me."

He smiles broadly, and now Sam is sure something is up. When Dean reaches for the radio, Sam lifts his hand, but Dean grunts. "Come on, I got over my tapes. You can’t forbid me to listen to music ever again."

"Okay, you’re right," Sam admits and leans back. "I’m sorry."

"No problem," Dean quips and he fumbles around with the frequency, clearly trying to get a specific station.

"-almost 6 in the morning and some of you might be surprised to hear my voice," the announcer says in a deep, gruff voice. "Anna couldn’t make it this morning, so I’m filling in, giving you the best classic rock on Angel Radio."

"You ever heard of that station before?" Sam asks, and Dean shrugs his shoulder as if he hadn’t just ignored some easier options to tune into this particular station.

The announcer speaks about some program changes and how he’ll be missing a show due to a concert he’s going to. Sam wouldn’t be interested in any of it, but Dean smiles along in a bedazzled manner and keeps glancing at the radio with an expression of fondness on his face. It gives Sam the creeps.

"And now I have a special song for one of our listeners. Good morning, Dean."

The announcer's voice is oozing something that Sam can’t place, especially in the way he says Dean. Sam looks over to his brother who is now smiling at the radio as if he’s about to bend down and kiss it. The music starts playing, and Dean taps his fingers on the steering wheel, lost in the fact of how weird all of this is.

Sam leans forward to catch his eye and points to the radio. "You wanna tell me what’s going on?"

"Don’t know what you mean," Dean says, mouthing the words to the song.

"You, all bouncy," Sam elaborates, trying very hard to keep his voice under control. "And ‘good morning, Dean.‘ You gonna tell me that wasn’t meant for you?"

"A lotta Deans out there, Sammy," Dean chirps and Sam is about to lose his mind.

"Look, you’re going to tell me-" Sam starts, but Dean is done pretending. When the chorus comes in, he actually sings along, not exactly well, but with a lot of enthusiasm.

"And you… shook me all night long," he booms at the top of his voice while Sam’s brain works overtime.

A picture begins to form in his mind that combines Dean’s after sex behavior, the announcer, and that song.

"What were you asking?" Dean shouts over the music, moving his head along and shaking his shoulders.

Sam sinks down deep in his seat and closes his eyes, trying to do the same with his mind before it can finish solving the puzzle. "Oh god, nevermind. Just drive."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! It would be nice to hear what you think about the story :)
> 
> If anybody feels inspired to fill in the blanks or send these guys on a date, I'd be very interested in reading what you come up with :D


End file.
